Emma Potter and the Philosopher's Stone
by E.B. Ayers
Summary: Emma Potter has been growing up with her horrible aunt and uncle ever since her parents were killed in a car crash. She has never been thought of as anything special, or even likeable. Until her eleventh birthday. (Female Harry Story)
1. Chapter 1

Mr. and Mrs. Dursley of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much. They were the last people you'd expect to be involved in anything strange or mysterious, because they just didn't hold with such nonsense.

Every family has its little quirks, something that sets them apart from other families, but not the Dursleys; they _liked_ being ordinary. Vernon Dursley was the director of a firm called Grunnings, known for its finely made drills. He was a very large, blonde man with very little neck and a highly impressive moustache. His wife, Petunia, was thin and bony, with perfectly groomed dark hair and a neck that quite made up for her husband's lack thereof. This came in handy, as she spent a lot of her time peering over garden fences, spying on the neighbors. The Dursleys had a young son named Dudley, and in their opinion, there was not a finer child anywhere in the world.

The Dursleys had a perfect, normal life; it was all they ever wanted. However, they also had a secret, and their greatest fear was that somebody would discover it.

Vernon and Petunia hated to think of what would happen if anybody found out about the Potters. Mrs. Potter was Petunia's sister, but they hadn't seen one another in several years; in fact, Petunia Dursley pretended that she didn't have a sister, because Mrs. Potter and her good-for-nothing husband were about as unDursleyish as anyone could be. If the Potters ever showed up at the Dursleys' house, well, what would the neighbors think?

The Potters had baby twins, a boy and a girl, a little younger than Dudley, but they had never seen them. They were another reason for keeping the Potters away; they didn't want Dudley mixing with children like that.

When Mr. and Mrs. Dursley woke up one dull, grey November morning, there was nothing about the cloudy sky above them to suggest that strange and mysterious things would soon be happening all over the country. Vernon Dursley hummed as he picked out a hideously boring grey tie for work, and Petunia spouted neighborhood gossip as she forced a wailing Dudley into his high chair.

None of them noticed a large, tawny owl flutter past the window.

"I think Dudley rather enjoyed this Halloween," Petunia commented, eyeing the overflowing plastic jack-o-lantern on the kitchen counter. "At least more than his last one." Dudley Dursley had spent the better part of his first Halloween being stuffed into a pumpkin costume that clearly couldn't hold him, and the rest of the evening being rolled from house to house, screaming the entire time.

"Good for him," Vernon said with a smile, sitting down and allowing Petunia to pour him a cup of coffee and set a plate of eggs and sausage in front of him. "He was surely the most handsome young frog on Privet Drive. No competition."

At half-past eight, Mr. Dursley picked up his briefcase, gave his wife a peck on the cheek, and tried to give Dudley a good-bye kiss but missed, because Dudley was now having a massive tantrum and throwing his bits of scrambled eggs all over the dining room.

As she watched her husband leave, Mrs. Dursley waved through the front window. When she saw him leave the neighborhood, she turned around to her little Dudley, her darling angel, her pride and joy (who was currently spitting up on himself).

"Come on, sweetheart," she said tenderly, wiping his face with his bib. "Let's get you a bath."

Petunia carried her baby boy upstairs and set him in the bath. Dudley, for some reason, hated baths. As soon as his feet touched the warm water, he would burst into tears and start splashing water all over the bathroom. By the time the bath was over, Petunia was usually just as wet as he.

Mr. Dursley started noticing strange things the moment he pulled out of the drive and glanced at the corner. That was when he spotted it – a cat reading a map. For a moment, Mr. Dursley didn't know what to think. He jerked his head around to look again; there was indeed a tabby cat sitting on the corner of Privet Drive, but he could see no map. What could he have been thinking? It must have been a trick of the light, or the extra cup of coffee he'd had that morning. Mr. Dursley stared at the cat for a good few moments, and the cat stared right back. He continued to watch the cat as he drove around the corner and up the road. It took him a little while, but he finally gave himself a little shake and put the tabby cat out of his mind. As he drove into town, he thought of nothing except a large order of drills he was expecting that day.

On the edge of town, however, drills were driven out of his thoughts by something else. As he sat in the everyday traffic jam, he noticed a lot of oddly-dressed people walking about; people in cloaks. Mr. Dursley hated people who dressed in funny clothes – the getups you saw on young people these days! He assumed that this was some strange new fashion. He rapped his fingers irritably on the steering wheel, and his eyes fell on a huddle of these weirdos standing not too far away. They were all whispering excitedly together, and Mr. Dursley was enraged to see that a few of them weren't young at all; why, that man had to be older than he was, and he was wearing an emerald green cloak! The nerve of him! That was when it struck Mr. Dursley; this was probably some ridiculous stunt - these people were surely collecting for a charity…yes, that had to be it. The traffic started to move again, and a few minutes later, Mr. Dursley was in the Grunnings parking lot with his mind back on drills.

Once both Dudley and Petunia were clean and dry, she decided to take him outside to play. She spread a soft blanket out in the back yard and started introducing him to the various types of flowers in her garden.

"See this one here?" she said. "This is a daffodil. And this is a petunia, just like Mummy!" Dudley giggled and grabbed at the petunia. His mother, who was frighteningly protective of her flowers, guided his hand away. "Want to go see Mummy's lilies?" Petunia picked up her baby boy and carried him through the neatly trimmed hedges to her "secret garden." This was where she grew her bright pink lilies.

"Oh!" she gasped. The lilies were no longer bright and beautiful, as they had been last time she checked on them. They were brown and shriveled. Dead.

Suddenly, she became aware of Dudley's excited gurgles. He was pointing up into the sky at something. Petunia followed his gaze and gasped again. Owls filled the sky, all hooting and screeching loudly. Petunia had seen very few owls in her life, but she knew enough about them to remember that they were nocturnal birds. So why were so many of them flying about?

Mr. Dursley always sat with his back to the window in his large, ninth-floor office. He didn't see all of the owls swooping through the air in broad daylight, though nearly everybody on the street did. Mr. Dursley, unlike the general population of Surrey, had a perfectly normal, owl-free morning. He yelled at five different people, made several important telephone calls, and shouted a little bit more. He was in a rather good mood until about noon, when he decided to stretch his legs and walk across the road to buy himself a snack from the bakery.

Mr. Dursley had forgotten all about the people in cloaks until he passed a group of them next to the baker's. He stared at them angrily as he passed by; he didn't know what it was, but something about these people made him uneasy. This bunch of them were whispering excitedly too, and Mr. Dursley couldn't spot a single collecting tin between them. When he passed them again, clutching a chocolate frosted doughnut in a bag, he managed to catch a few words that they were saying.

"The Potters, that's what I heard-"

"Yes, their daughter, Emma-" Mr. Dursley stopped dead. Fear flooded him. He looked back at the whisperers as if he wanted to say something, but thought better of it.

He dashed back across the road, hurried up to his office, snapped at his secretary to leave him alone, and grabbed his telephone. He had almost finished dialing his home number when he changed his mind. He put the receiver down again and stroked his moustache, thinking…no. He was being stupid. Potter wasn't such an unusual name. He was sure there were lots of people called Potter who had a daughter called Emma. Come to think of it, he didn't even know if his niece _was_ called Emma. He'd never even seen the child. Her named could have been Ellie. There was no point in worrying Petunia; she always got so upset at any mention of her wretched sister. He didn't blame her; if _he'd_ had a sister like that…

Dudley was napping now, and Petunia was sitting in the kitchen alone. She had a pen in her hand and a piece of paper in front of her. Only two words were written on it:

Dear Lily,

What would she say to her sister though? _I saw some owls today, and my lilies are dead. What did you do?_ No, that didn't sound good at all. But still, something was going on, and there was no way to ignore it. Perhaps she could start with casual questions. _It's been some time. How are Harry and Emma? They're about Dudley's age, right? _Just then, the clock in the hallway struck five. Vernon was leaving work. Petunia was determined to keep all of her petty concerns to herself.

Mr. Dursley left the building at five o' clock exactly, and was home twenty minutes later. He planned to keep all of his thoughts to himself. Petunia surely didn't want to hear anything about her sister, and Vernon would have liked to ignore her again as well.

_I'm being stupid,_ he thought to himself as Petunia chattered away over dinner about how nice it would be if Dudley became friend with that new baby boy Piers down the road. _This couldn't possibly affect us._

That night, as the two of them lay in bed, Petunia thought again about her sister. _I'm being stupid,_ she convinced herself, listening to the sound of her husband's snores. _This couldn't possibly affect us_.

As the Dursleys drifted off, finally relaxed, the tabby cat that Vernon had spotted earlier was sitting on their front step. It didn't move at all. The slamming of a car door nearby might have spooked a normal cat, but this cat wasn't exactly normal.

Nor was the man who had just appeared on the corner, for that matter.

The man's outfit would have been enough to make Petunia Dursley faint. He had silver hair and a long, frizzy beard. He wore long purple robes, a pointed hat, and a matching cloak. His eyes were bright blue, gleaming behind his spectacles. The man's name, and quite a name it was, was Albus Dumbledore.

Albus Dumbledore strolled down the street, humming to himself, when he spotted the cat. He chuckled and gave it a friendly wave, as if greeting an old friend. He turned to get something out of his pocket, and when he looked up again, the cat was gone. In its place, an old woman dressed all in green brushed some dirt off of her robes and stood up off of the Dursley's front step.

"If this is the place you mean to take Emma Potter, Albus," she said, glaring at Dumbledore. "Then I fear for her."

"We've discussed this, Minerva." Dumbledore said, untangling a small silver lighter from his pocket and opening it up. "They're the only family she has. She'll be safe here." He clicked the lighter, and just like that, all of the street lamps went dark. Satisfied, he put the lighter that clearly wasn't a lighter back in his pocket.

"They're terrible! They won't treat her well! I watched them all day, they're the most disgusting sort of Muggles that exist! They've got a son, too, and he is just -"

"Emma's cousin." Dumbledore finished. "This is the way it has to be."

"But what about her brother?" Minerva asked. "Where is Harry going to go?"

"I've decided to separate them." He explained. "Harry is staying with the Larson family. I've arranged it with them, and he has been taken there already. It will be best for him, and Emma."

Minerva opened her mouth, changed her mind, swallowed, and then said, "Yes - yes, you're right, of course. But how is the girl getting here, Dumbledore?" She eyed his cloak suddenly as though she thought he might be hiding Emma underneath it. Dumbledore saw her glance and shook his head.

"Hagrid's bringing her."

"You think it - wise - to trust Hagrid with something as important as this?"

"I would trust Hagrid with my life, Professor McGonagall." said Dumbledore. Minerva McGonagall sighed and nodded grudgingly.

"I suppose so," she said. "But when is he -" In answer to her question, a low rumbling sound filled the air. The two of them looked to the street before them, searching for the source of the noise. It wasn't until they heard a sharp screech that they turned around.

The man on the motorcycle behind them was, to say the least, enormous. His big brown eyes gazed down at Dumbledore and McGonagall from behind a bush of unruly brown hair.

"Hagrid," said Dumbledore, opening his arms in welcome. "Everything went well, I hope?"

"Perfect, sir. She's asleep now, just drifted off. Try not ter wake her up."

He held out the bundle of blankets (which was smaller than his own hand) and allowed Dumbledore and McGonagall to peer inside. A baby girl lay fast asleep in the blankets. A little tuft of blonde hair just barely hid the oddly shaped cut on her forehead. It looked like a bolt of lightning.

"Poor child," McGonagall cooed, taking the blankets. "Couldn't you do something about the scar, Dumbledore?"

"She'll have it forever," Dumbledore shook his head. "Come on now, let's get this over with." Dumbledore took the child and set her gently on the Dursley's doorstep. As he pulled a letter out of the folds of his cloak and tucked it into little Emma's blanket, McGonagall put a hand on Hagrid's elbow to try to comfort him (he was sniffling rather loudly).

"She'll be fine." she reassured him. "Calm down, Hagrid."

"I'm going ter go take this bike back to Sirius," Hagrid said. "He loaned it ter me so I could take Emma here. G'night, Professors."

Emma Potter yawned and shifted in her blankets without waking. She clutched the letter with her tiny fist and slept on, not knowing how special she was, not knowing what awaited her in her new life with the Dursleys. This was when her life took a turn for the worst.

Emma Potter was nobody on Privet Drive, and for the next ten years, that was how it would stay.


	2. Chapter 2

Nearly ten years had passed since the Dursleys had woken up to find their niece on the front step, and yet Privet Drive had hardly changed at all. The sun rose on the same tidy front gardens and lit up the brass number four on the Dursleys' front door; it crept into their living room, which was almost exactly the same as it had been on the night when Mr. Dursley had seen that fateful news report about the owls. Only the photographs on the mantelpiece really showed how much time had passed.

Ten years ago, there had been lots of pictures of what looked like a large pink beach ball wearing different-colored bonnets - but Dudley Dursley was no longer a baby, and now the photographs showed a large blond boy riding his first bicycle, on a carousel at the fair, playing a computer game with his father, being hugged and kissed by his mother.

The room held no sign at all that another child lived in the house, too.

Yes, Emma Potter was still there, asleep at the moment, but not for long. Her Aunt Petunia was awake and it was her shrill voice that always made the first noise of the day.

"Up! Get up! Now!" Emma woke with a start. Her aunt rapped on the door again.

"Up!" she screeched. Emma heard her walking toward the kitchen and then the sound of the frying pan being put on the stove. She rolled onto his back and tried to remember the dream she had been having. It had been a good one. There had been a flying motorcycle in it. She had a funny feeling she'd had the same dream before.

Her aunt was back outside the door.

"Are you up yet?" she demanded.

"Nearly," said Emma.

"Well, get a move on, I want you to look after the bacon. And don't you dare let it burn, I want everything perfect on Duddy's birthday." Petunia demanded. Emma groaned.

"What did you say?" her aunt snapped through the door.

"Nothing, nothing..." Dudley's birthday - how could she have forgotten? Emma got slowly out of bed and started looking for socks. She found a pair under his bed and, after pulling a spider off one of them, put them on. Emma was used to spiders, because the cupboard under the stairs was full of them, and that was where she slept.

The loud thumping above her told her that Dudley was awake, and running down the stairs. She listened as he thundered down, stopped, dashed back up, and jumped directly above her head.

"Wake up cousin!" He cried. "We're going to the zoo!" Emma sighed and brushed the fallen dust out of her hair. As she crawled out of her cupboard door to tell him to stop, Dudley ran past her, shoved her back in, and dashed, laughing, into the living room. Emma sighed, rubbing the spot where her head had slammed into the wall.

When she was dressed she went down the hall into the kitchen. The table was almost entirely hidden beneath all of Dudley's birthday presents. It looked as though Dudley had gotten the new computer he wanted, not to mention the second television and the racing bike. Exactly why Dudley wanted a racing bike was a mystery to Emma, as Dudley was very fat and hated exercise - unless of course it involved punching somebody.

Emma glanced at her reflection in the small mirror that hung on the wall. She had long blonde hair, very pale skin, and rosy cheeks. Her eyes were a light blue shade that reminded her of the beach, where the Dursley's had gone once for vacation, leaving her to stay with an old lady who lived down the road. One feature that she really liked about herself was the thin scar on her forehead, which was curiously shaped like a bolt of lightning. The first question she remembered asking her Aunt Petunia was how she had gotten it.

"In the car crash when your parents died," she had said. "And don't ask questions." Don't ask questions - that was the first rule for a quiet life with the Dursleys.

Perhaps it had something to do with living in a dark cupboard, but Emma had always been small and skinny for her age. For a long time, she had looked especially small and skinny because all she had to wear were old clothes of Dudley's, who was five times larger than she was. However, after a few years of watching Aunt Petunia sewing to make Dudley's clothing larger, she got the idea of how it was done. She began to cut up Dudley's clothes and create shirts and pants of her own size. She did this in the dead of night, when her aunt, uncle and cousin were asleep. When she would dress in the clothes she had designed, her aunt would demand to know how she had purchased them, and then, after hearing Emma's explanation, punished her for destroying perfectly good hand-me-downs.

At the same time, not too far away, a boy named Harry was starting his day as well. He, however, was taking his time. He yawned and groped around on his bedside table for his glasses. Once he had wrapped his fingers around them, he slid them on and sat up. He had had a perfectly enjoyable night, which involved vivid dreams of his sister.

Harry had never met his sister. In fact, for a while, he hadn't even known about his legendary twin. He had grown up with his adoptive mother and father, and their daughter, Kristen, who was six years older than Harry. However, when he was seven, and had just started showing signs of magical ability, they sat down with him and told him the story of his sister, which was also, to say, his own.

_When you were a little baby, Harry, about a year old, you were living very happily with your mother, father, and twin sister, Emma. But one day, an evil man, who we don't talk about here, came to your house. He killed your dad, and then your mum. You and your sister were sitting there, together. He had your sister marked down for death. He pointed his wand at her, and then, poof! He was gone. He couldn't kill your sister. He destroyed your house, but couldn't kill your sister. Then, Professor Dumbledore took you to our house, and he took your sister somewhere else. I don't know where, but maybe you'll find her one day. Maybe…_

He knew the story by heart, and most of his dreams followed that tale. He would see his family, all together, then a dark figure in a black cloak. He wouldn't see his parents die, but he would see himself and Emma. They were together, and the figure tried to kill her too, but then he vanished in a puff of smoke. He saw Professor Dumbledore, who he had never really seen in person, pick up the little babies and whisk them away.

Harry sighed and got out of bed. He slouched lazily to the bathroom, where he washed his face and checked his reflection before breakfast. Harry was a skinny boy, but this was not due to lack of food. The Larson's had always treated him like a son, and took wonderful care of him. His hair was jet black, and stuck up at odd angles. His eyes were bright green, and he wore round glasses because his eyes had never been good.

"Good Morning, Harry." Said Mrs. Larson.

"Morning, Mum." Harry yawned. He had tried many times, but had never been able to get out of the habit of calling his adoptive parents 'mum' and 'dad.'

"We're going to a Muggle zoo today." Mrs. Larson said. "Kristen needs to for her project."

"Okay." Harry mumbled, helping himself to eggs and toast. Kristen took a class on Muggles in school, and her summer project was to write a report on Muggle forms of entertainment. She'd gone to the movies, read Muggle magazines, and even gone shopping with a group of Muggle girls.

"Hurry up!" Uncle Vernon bellowed from the kitchen table. "Bring my coffee, girl!"

"Yes, Uncle Vernon." Emma sighed.

Emma was frying eggs by the time Dudley arrived in the kitchen with his mother. Dudley looked a lot like Uncle Vernon. He had a large pink face, not much neck, small, watery blue eyes, and thick blond hair that lay smoothly on his thick, fat head. Aunt Petunia often said that Dudley looked like a baby angel - Emma often said that Dudley looked like a pig in a wig.

Emma put the plates of egg and bacon on the table, which was difficult as there wasn't much room. Dudley, meanwhile, was counting his presents. His face fell.

"Thirty-six," he said, looking up at his mother and father. "That's two less than last year."

"Darling, you haven't counted Auntie Marge's present, see, it's here under this big one from Mummy and Daddy."

"All right, thirty-seven then," said Dudley, going red in the face.

Emma, who could see a huge Dudley tantrum coming on, ate a piece of bacon as fast as possible in case Dudley turned the table over.

Aunt Petunia obviously scented danger, too, because she said quickly,

"And we'll buy you another two presents while we're out today. How's that, popkin? Two more presents. Is that all right?''

Dudley thought for a moment. It looked like hard work. Finally he said slowly, "So I'll have thirty ... thirty..."

"Thirty-nine, sweetums," said Aunt Petunia.

"Oh." Dudley sat down heavily and grabbed the nearest parcel. "All right then." Uncle Vernon chuckled.

"Little tyke wants his money's worth, just like his father. 'Atta boy, Dudley!" He ruffled Dudley's hair.

At that moment the telephone rang and Aunt Petunia went to answer it while Emma and Uncle Vernon watched Dudley unwrap the racing bike, a video camera, a remote control airplane, sixteen new computer games, and a VCR. He was ripping the paper off a gold wristwatch when Aunt Petunia came back from the telephone looking both angry and worried.

"Bad news, Vernon," she said. "Mrs. Figg's broken her leg. She can't take her." She jerked her head in Emma's direction.

Dudley's mouth fell open in horror, but Emma's heart gave a leap. Every year on Dudley's birthday, his parents took him and a friend out for the day, to adventure parks, hamburger restaurants, or the movies. Every year, Emma was left behind with Mrs. Figg, a mad old lady who lived two streets away. Emma hated it there. The whole house smelled of cabbage and Mrs. Figg made her look at photographs of all the cats she'd ever owned.

"Now what?" said Aunt Petunia, looking furiously at Emma as though she'd planned this. Emma knew he ought to feel sorry that Mrs. Figg had broken her leg, but it wasn't easy when she reminded herself it would be a whole year before she had to look at Tibbles, Snowy, Mr. Paws, and Tufty again.

"We could phone Marge," Uncle Vernon suggested.

"Don't be silly, Vernon, she hates the girl." The Dursleys often spoke about Emma like this, as though she wasn't there - or rather, as though she was something very nasty that couldn't understand them, like a slug.

"What about what's-her-name, your friend - Yvonne."

"On vacation in Majorca," snapped Aunt Petunia.

"You could just leave me here," Emma put in, trying not to look as hopeful as she really was (she'd be able to watch what she wanted on television for a change and maybe even have a go on Dudley's computer).

Aunt Petunia looked as though she'd just swallowed a lemon.

"And come back and find the house in ruins?" she snarled.

"I promise, I won't blow up the house," said Emma, but they weren't listening.

"I suppose we could take her to the zoo," said Aunt Petunia slowly, "...and leave her in the car..."

"That car's new, she's not sitting in it alone..."

Dudley began to cry loudly. In fact, he wasn't really crying - it had been years since he'd really cried - but he knew that if he screwed up his face and wailed, his mother would give him anything he wanted.

"Dinky Duddydums, don't cry, Mummy won't let her spoil your special day!" she cried, flinging her arms around him.

"I... don't... want... her... t-t-to come!" Dudley yelled between huge, pretend sobs. "She always sp- spoils everything!" He shot Emma a nasty grin through the gap in his mother's arms.

Just then, the doorbell rang - "Oh, good Lord, they're here!" said Aunt Petunia frantically - and a moment later, Dudley's best friend, Piers Polkiss, walked in with his mother. Piers was a scrawny boy with a face like a rat. He was usually the one who held people's arms behind their backs while Dudley hit them. Dudley stopped pretending to cry at once.

Half an hour later, Emma, who couldn't believe her luck, was sitting in the back of the Dursleys' car with Piers and Dudley, on the way to the zoo for the first time in her life. Her aunt and uncle hadn't been able to think of anything else to do with her, but before they'd left, Uncle Vernon had taken Emma aside.

"I'm warning you," he had said, putting his large purple face right up close to Emma's, "I'm warning you now, girl - any funny business, anything at all - and you won't have any meals for a week."

"I'm not going to do anything," said Emma, "honestly."

But Uncle Vernon didn't believe her. No one ever did.

The problem was, strange things often happened around Emma and it was just no good telling the Dursleys she didn't make them happen.

Once, Aunt Petunia had been trying to force her into a hideous old sweater from the back of her closet (brown with orange puff balls) - The harder she tried to pull it over Emma's head, the smaller it seemed to become, until finally it might have fit a baby, but certainly wouldn't fit Emma. Aunt Petunia had decided it must have shrunk in the wash and, to her great relief, Emma wasn't punished.

On the other hand, she'd gotten into terrible trouble for being found on the roof of the school kitchens. Dudley's gang had been chasing her as usual when, as much to Emma's surprise as anyone else's, there she was sitting on the chimney. The Dursleys had received a very angry letter from Emma's headmistress telling them Emma had been climbing school buildings. But all she'd tried to do (as she shouted at Uncle Vernon through the locked door of her cupboard) was jump behind the big trash cans outside the kitchen doors. Emma supposed that the wind must have caught her in mid- jump.

But today, nothing was going to go wrong. It was even worth being with Dudley and Piers to be spending the day somewhere that wasn't school, her cupboard, or Mrs. Figg's cabbage-smelling living room.

While he drove, Uncle Vernon complained to Aunt Petunia. He liked to complain about things: people at work, Emma, the council, Emma, the bank, and Emma were just a few of his favorite subjects. This morning, the subject of his distaste was motorcycles.

"... roaring along like maniacs, the young hoodlums," he said, as a motorcycle overtook them.

"I had a dream about a motorcycle," said Emma, remembering suddenly. "It was flying." Uncle Vernon nearly crashed into the car in front. He turned right around in his seat and yelled at Emma, his face like a gigantic radish with a mustache:

"MOTORCYCLES DON'T FLY!" Dudley and Piers sniggered.

"I know they don't," said Emma. "It was only a dream." But she wished she hadn't said anything. If there was one thing the Dursleys hated even more than her asking questions, it was her talking about anything acting in a way it shouldn't, no matter if it was in a dream or even a cartoon - they seemed to think she might get dangerous ideas.

It was a very sunny Saturday and the zoo was crowded with families. The Dursleys bought Dudley and Piers large chocolate ice creams at the entrance and then, because the smiling man at the cart had asked Emma what she wanted before they could hurry her away, they bought her a cheap lemon ice pop. It wasn't bad, either, Emma thought, licking it as they watched a gorilla scratching its head; the beast looked remarkably like Dudley, except that it wasn't blond.

Emma had the best morning she'd had in a long time. She was careful to walk a little way apart from the Dursleys so that Dudley and Piers, who were starting to get bored with the animals by lunchtime, wouldn't fall back on their favorite hobby of bullying her. They ate in the zoo restaurant, and when Dudley had a tantrum because his knickerbocker glory didn't have enough ice cream on top, Uncle Vernon bought him another one and Emma was allowed to finish the first.

Emma felt, afterward, that she should have known it was all too good to last.

Harry was having a very good time at the zoo as well. He wandered around with his mother, father, and sister, admiring all of the different animals. His favorite by far was the lion. As they sat by the chimpanzee habitat, he expressed his surprise that they had all of these interesting creatures on display, but nothing like a dragon or a unicorn. Kristen had to explain to him that they only existed in "their world."

They had taken their own lunches along, because they didn't know how to work with regular money. When they had finished eating their slightly soggy, but still rather good sandwiches, they all agreed to meet back at the park bench in half an hour, and went to go look at whatever they wanted. Harry strolled around for a bit until he found a large building crowded with people. It looked interesting, so he went in.

The Dursleys, Piers, and Emma went to the reptile house after lunch. It was cool and dark in there, with lit windows all along the walls. Behind the glass, all sorts of lizards and snakes were crawling and slithering over bits of wood and stone. Dudley and Piers wanted to see huge, poisonous cobras and thick, man-crushing pythons. Dudley quickly found the largest snake in the place. It could have wrapped its body twice around Uncle Vernon's car and crushed it into a trash can - but at the moment it didn't look in the mood. In fact, it was fast asleep.

Dudley stood with his nose pressed against the glass, staring at the glistening brown coils. "Make it move," he whined at his father. Uncle Vernon tapped on the glass, but the snake didn't budge.

"Do it again," Dudley ordered. Uncle Vernon rapped the glass smartly with his knuckles, but the snake just snoozed on.

"This is boring," Dudley moaned. He shuffled away.

Emma moved in front of the tank and looked intently at the snake. She wouldn't have been surprised if it had died of boredom itself - no company except stupid people drumming their fingers on the glass trying to disturb it all day long. It was worse than having a cupboard as a bedroom, where the only visitor was Aunt Petunia hammering on the door to wake you up; at least she got to visit the rest of the house.

The snake suddenly opened its beady eyes. Slowly, very slowly, it raised its head until its eyes were on a level with Emma's.

It winked.

Emma stared. Then she looked quickly around to see if anyone was watching. They weren't. She looked back at the snake and winked, too.

The snake jerked its head toward Uncle Vernon and Dudley, then raised its eyes to the ceiling. It gave Emma a look that said quite plainly: "I get that all the time.

"I know," Emma murmured through the glass, though she wasn't sure the snake could hear her. "It must be really annoying."

The snake nodded vigorously.

"Where do you come from, anyway?" Emma asked.

The snake jabbed its tail at a little sign next to the glass. Emma peered at it.

Boa Constrictor, Brazil.

"Was it nice there?" Emma asked. The boa constrictor jabbed its tail at the sign again, and Emma read the fine print.

This Specimen was Bred in Captivity

"Oh," she said. "I know how you feel, I suppose. I never knew my parents either."

Harry was looking at the pythons when he spotted her. A young girl, about his own age, standing on the other side of the boa constrictor's tank; she appeared to be having a conversation with the snake - and the snake seemed to be answering her. He watched her for a moment, until she felt his gaze and looked up. Harry waved politely, and she waved back.

"Mum! Dad!" said a boy's voice suddenly. "Look! Look at what this snake is doing!" A very fat boy waddled quickly up to the girl's side of the tank and shoved her to the ground. She fell quite hard on the concrete floor. Harry gasped. As she sat up, a large red mark forming on her cheek, Harry was surprised to see that she didn't look at all angry about being pushed aside like that; instead, she just seemed rather tired of it.

What came next happened so fast that nobody really saw how it happened. One moment, Piers and Dudley were pressed up against the glass, staring at the snake. The next, they were tumbling and falling into the tank - the glass had vanished. The boa constrictor uncoiled itself and slithered out onto the floor. People all throughout the reptile house screamed and started to run for the exits.

As the snake slid swiftly past her, Emma could have sworn she heard a low, hissing voice say, "Thanksss."

As everyone cowered frantically from the boa constrictor, Dudley and Piers stood up to climb out of the tank - but they couldn't. The glass was blocking them.

"Mum!" Dudley cried, pounding on the glass. "Dad! Help!" Petunia shrieked with horror. Vernon bellowed with rage. Emma howled with laughter.

The zoo director himself made Aunt Petunia a cup of strong, sweet tea while he apologized profusely. Piers and Dudley could only blubber. As far as Emma had seen, the snake had done nothing but hiss at them as it left its cage. By the time they were all back in the car, however, Dudley was telling them about how the snake had nearly bitten off his leg, while Piers swore it had tried to squeeze him to death. But worst of all, for Emma at least, was Dudley calming down enough to say "Emma was talking to it, weren't you Emma?"

Uncle Vernon waited until Piers had gone home before he started on Emma. He was so furious that he could hardly speak. He managed to say "Go – cupboard - stay - no meals," before he dropped into his chair, and Aunt Petunia had to get him a large brandy.

Emma lay in her dark cupboard much later, wishing she had a watch. She didn't know the time, and she couldn't be certain that the Dursleys were sleeping yet. Until they were, she couldn't risk sneaking into the kitchen for some food.

Emma had lived with the Dursleys for almost ten years, ten miserable years. It was the only home she could remember, since her parents had died in that car crash when she was a baby. She couldn't remember much about that night. Sometimes, when she strained her memory as hard as she could, she came up with a strange vision: a blinding flash of green light and a burning pain in her forehead. This, she assumed, was the crash, though she couldn't guess where all of the green light came from. She remembered nothing about her mother and father. His aunt and uncle never spoke of them, and they had no photos of them in the house.

When she had been little, Emma had dreamed and fantasized of some unknown relation coming to take her away, but it had never happened; the Dursleys were her only family. Sometimes, she thought (or maybe hoped) that strangers in the street seemed to know her. Very strange strangers they were, for that matter. A tiny man in a violet top hat had bowed to her once while she was out shopping with aunt Petunia and Dudley. After asking Emma furiously if she knew the man, Aunt Petunia had rushed them out of the shop without buying a thing. A wild-looking old woman dressed all in green had waved merrily to her once in a bus. A bald man in a long purple coat had actually shaken her hand in the street the other day and walked away without a word. The strangest thing about all of these people was that whenever Emma looked around to get another glance, they all seemed to have vanished.

At school, Emma had nobody. Everyone knew that Dudley and his gang hated Emma Potter with her ugly old clothes and weird scar, and nobody liked to disagree with Dudley and his gang.


End file.
